Page 84 of The Shadow of Breninsol
“Thank you.”
The woman curtsiedagainand left the room.
Eleanor waited and listening for the woman’s slow retreating footsteps over the plush rugs in the hallway, a clear sign the woman’s earlier helpfulness by offering assistance was a pretence. Eleanor knew the servant would linger outside, likely wanted to uncover some juicy tidbit to report to the marquis.
She looked longingly at the thick bed, but she couldn’t, not before she’d properly checked the room. Eleanor waited until she was satisfied the servant had left, after hearing nothing interesting. Then she dumped her bag on the dressing stool and walked the perimeter of the room, counting her paces. She made sure to slowly tread over each of the dark wooden floorboards, waiting to hear if they gave the telltale squeak of a loose board, but she heard nothing.
As she moved through the room, Eleanor kept a close eye on the floral wallpaper for any cleverly hidden doors. Runningher fingers over the wallpaper, she felt only the bumpy texture of delicately inked paper. She pressed an ear to the wall and knocked at random intervals to hear for the sound of a hollow wall. Testing each sconce, she ensured it was properly affixed to the walls. She checked the latches on the paned windows, locking them from the inside. She even rolled up sections of the heavy rug, replacing it in the exact position, and inspected the wall by the door.
Even though the tiny wardrobe was bare, Eleanor inspected it with painstaking care. Then she turned her attention to the bathing chamber. There was a tall paned window with dusty pink drapes tied back with matching tassels, which led onto its own little balcony. Eleanor turned the latch, also locking this window from the inside.
The room’s centre held a partially sunken stone tub matching the floor. She hoped the bath would retain some of its warmth by the time she was done, already relishing a good soak. It was a stark difference from the shared metal tub and rag washes in the sink at The Ladies Grace.
The lavatory was situated around a small corner. This room’s fireplace was similar to the bedroom’s fireplace as it lacked heat, but both of them had been lit and left to extinguish at some point before her arrival. Despite the bathing chamber being made from stone, it felt warm. Colourful bottles, pots, and boxes of different shapes and sizes filled a white vanity table that held the sink. She sniffed each one, sensing delicate floral bathing fragrances, perfumed hair and skin oils, and lotions.
Eleanor returned to the bedroom and realised there was nothing in these rooms that seemed suspicious. No spy holes, hidden doorways in the walls or floors, or even a wonky sconce. Nothing.
Eleanor couldn't decide whether to feel reassured she wasn’t being viewed as a threat, for now. She unravelled the contentsof her bag, and quietly unrolled her leathers, blades, and meagre herbs from the middle of the holey dressing gown and dress. The well-used garments looked like they didn’t belong here. Eleanor carefully unpicked the seam of a cushion from the armchair and bundled her worn leathers into it, making sure the buckles were pointed inwards, in case a servant plumped them. Then she cut a slit in the armchair’s base and stashed her holey boots into the chair’s underside.
Eleanor looked around the room for concealed places to stash her weapons, but in easily accessible places. Only when that was done would she be able to soak in the warm bath water. Eleanor hid an Attarician dagger under one of the matching white wooden bedside tables. Her second largest dagger went into the bottom of the pink dressing stool, while her long knife went under the bed frame. To hide that weapon, she had to lie on her back under the bed and wedge it in place, to prevent any noise while she slept or when the servants changed the bedding.
Eleanor couldn’t hide anything in the wardrobe for now, instead leaving her empty bag and her stained garments in the tiny room.
She was unhappy about stashing the decorative dagger into the folds of a pile of the bathroom’s soft towels, but she positionedthatstack of towels at the rear of the shelf. Eleanor couldn’t hide anymore blades around the room, as she liked to keep the others on her when she wasn’t able to wear her leathers. She always had a weapon to hand. Currently, she had her other Attarician dagger strapped to her thigh, and the smallest knife she owned was nestled in her cleavage. Along with the two thin strips of metal hidden in her dress’ lining.
Opening a drawer in the bedside table, she placed her roll of herbs and empty vials, and one of the butter knives from the tea set, a decoy knife. Not that she couldn’t kill someone with it. It wasn’t an ideal weapon, as it’d take some time and wouldbe incredibly messy to do the deed, but she’d manage it if she needed to. If the marquis suspected anything and rifled through her things, he’d easily find this simple act of defiance.
After she ensured everything in the room was in its place, the promise of a warm bath finally beckoned. Being alone and uninterrupted was a luxury Eleanor had not had in a long while, so she fully intended to enjoy this indulgence for as long as possible. She left her clothes and thin slippers in a pile on the bedroom floor, and dropped a blade in each pocket of the pink silken dressing robe as she passed the bathing chamber door. Then she placed a stack of towels within easy reach of the bathing tub and tucked her last dagger underneath the soft white towels.
A long exhale left her as she dipped into the lukewarm water and relished lathering the white soap. She scrubbed and scrubbed, covering every inch of her skin until the rosy, red glow brought her freckles into sharp relief, a stark contrast to the once pristine alabaster bar, now marked by a hint of grey. After rinsing the suds from her body, Eleanor wrapped a plush towel around her and pulled the plug from the tub. She watched in disgust as the drain sucked down the murky grey grime floating in the water. Even though she washed at The Ladies Grace using the communal bath in the shared bathing room, she’d still require a second wash.
Eleanor turned the gold taps to find the water was still wonderfully warm and drew a second bath. As she had decided to enjoy this luxury, she poured a rosemary scented oil from the colourful bottles on the vanity and sprinkled in some dried lavender and rose petals for good measure. As she slipped back into the water, she allowed her head to submerge, giving herself a few heartbeats to fully appreciate the pleasant silence and stillness that greeted her. Only when she felt the need to breath did she rise and tilted her head over the bathtub’s edge and sighed, staring up at the ceiling.
She’d failed at passing through the Collection unnoticed.
Stupid, so stupid.
Eleanor rubbed a wet hand over her face to banish that thought.
As much as she hated the idea, she’d now become a Favour and herownerwasn’t some sniffling creepy lord, but the Marquis of Laerus.
A knot of unease twisted in her stomach as she considered the implications of being the marquis’s Favour. Eleanor remembered in the early days of Favours that their lords would give them collars. She’d once seen a Favour famous for her unearthly beauty, wearing a collar of gold and diamonds. The wealth of the lord had determined the number of jewels encrusted on the collar.
Eleanor thanked the starsthattradition had been deemed barbaric and fallen out of fashion. The marquis was nothing if not fashionable. Unless…Eleanor felt nauseous at the thought of him wanting to revive the custom. She absentmindedly trailed a wet finger over her collarbone where she knew her tendril of magic was concealing her marred skin.
No. He wouldn’t…would he?
If that happened, she would have to convince him it was antiquated. It was that or leave. She didn’t have to stay. Shecould run away. The thought was shamefully tempting. It would require a few nights to work out the guard rotation, afterwards it’d be a case of simply scaling the walls surrounding the property.
Eleanor sunk under the warm water, closed her eyes, and held her breath. Rushing silence filled her ears, and she felt the slight weightlessness as her arms rose in the tub. She took this moment to think of nothing, to be nothing. Staying under the water until the urge to breathe rose in her chest, and then she lingered a little longer. Holding herself at the bottom of the tub until the slight burn in her chest grew and grew, until it became that familiar pressure and the instinctual need to breathe grew within her, only then did she slowly lift her head, and let herself breathe. The floral, woodsy scent of rose petals and lavender brought her blinking back to the bathing chamber.
No, she wasn’t running away, not this time.
After all, the marquis had paid for her, and he would want his money’s worth. The prospect of running away had been thoroughly tempting under Madam Grace. The madam would merely report her to the King’s Justice, resulting in a wolf’s head. Whereas the marquis had wealth at his fingertips that Madam Grace couldn’t even dream of, and the manpower that the madam lacked. He wouldn’t hesitate to use the small army at his disposal to hunt her down, just to save face. It would be embarrassing for him to bid on a Favour, only to arrive in court empty-handed.
An army had wanted and hunted Eleanor before. It was not an experience worth repeating. It was possible she could find a hiding spot in the Barrow, but it’d put a stop from pursuing any of her investigations, and it’d be inevitable that she’d be eventually discovered somehow, perhaps by a Raid, the city guards searching for a criminal, or even the marquis’s own guards. Certainly, she could slip out of Breninsol’s walls, thoughit was dangerous as the comings and goings at the wall was watched closely by the city guards. If she could manage it then she could lie low in some little village for a few years, but all it would only take is one mistake, one moment where she dropped her guard for a split second and then…she’d be discovered.
Constantly looking over her shoulder for however many years wasn’t a life she wanted to return to. She was tired, tired of running, and tired of hiding, but it was what she did to survive in this world. If she wouldn’t run, then she’d keep herself hidden, and that hollow pit inside of her hated it.
